Three Oke Night
by MauMauKa
Summary: For the Oryx Squadron, killing isn't always the hardest part of the job. A/N: WARNING! CrackFic, with a few nasty digs at a well-known political figure. Republicans and people with no sense of humor beware!
1. Chapter 1

Kruger hated Alaska.

He was used to working in scorching heat: the arid wastes of southern L.A., Mexico, and the Transvaal, the humid jungles around Colombia and Southeast Asia. Why the fok Delacourt had sent him to THIS place was a mystery. He was supposed to be chasing down an arms smuggler, but he was more inclined to believe he was being punished for his creativity, or maybe Delacourt's whiny, sanctimonious new girlfriend had begged for his services.

_Ugly teef. I wouldn't fuck her with someone else's piel._

He glowered at the _boeties_ and crossed his arms as they worked to set up the tent. It wasn't snowing yet; but it felt like it might any minute now. The sky was grey and threatening, not unlike Kruger himself. Drake and Crowe were trying not to look at each other as they set pegs and secured tarp. Tonight they were going to have to do what was possibly the hardest part of their job: sleeping with the boss.

Kruger was not, to put it mildly, a restful sleeper. He kicked and swore and snarled, ground his teeth and even yelled loudly. Crowe had a bite scar on one arm from the time they'd had to bivouac in the Mojave and he'd rolled a little too close. The boss was always fighting his enemies, asleep or awake.

"Hurry it up, _okes"_ Kruger growled. "I'd like to get some fokkin' shut-eye tonight."

"Remember I won, _boet"_ Crowe whispered to Drake.

"Shut up!" Drake muttered, cutting a sideways glance at his CO. They usually tossed a coin to determine who would have to sleep next to Kruger, but Drake had been stupid enough to challenge Crowe to a baffing contest the last time they were at a bar. Crowe had eaten two plates of beans with his braai, so he had won easily and claimed the outside edge for a whole month as his prize.

"Since it's so fokkin' cold, _I _get the middle!" Kruger announced. "Your fat, hairy arses can be useful for once."

Drake grinned at this unexpected bit of good fortune. Much as he wasn't looking forward to the coming evening, at least he wouldn't suffer alone. He discreetly flipped Crowe off as he ducked into the tent to see to the bedrolls.

"And _both_ of you better behave tonight!" Kruger growled. "If anyone calls me 'Mrs. Slocombe' again and tries nibbling on my ear, that person is gonna be missing a tongue, got it?"

The gunner snorted with laughter as Crowe turned red. Crowe enjoyed pretty young _meisies _as much as anyone, but what REALLY got him going was older women, the more matronly the better. He loved old Earth comedies for that very reason. He'd once tried to explain: "It's her hair man, the way it changes color all the time! I always wonder if she changes the carpet to match the drapes, eh?"

"_Jy is__'n frats_, _boet."_ Drake had laughed so hard he nearly pissed himself. "Who else do you wank off to, Hyacinth Bucket? Maggie Thatcher?"

"Got it, boss" Crowe said now. He disappeared into the tent.

Kruger entered the tent after the pilot and plopped himself in the middle of the bedrolls. If they weren't in the middle of the goddamn tundra, they could have simply parked the ship here and slept in their bunks the way they always did, but their "mission" was supposed to be covert. Kruger ground his teeth at the thought of the Alaskan governor's idiotic simper and little wire-rimmed glasses. What Delacourt saw in _her_, he couldn't imagine. If he ever got the opportunity, he planned to shove her Bible into her _poes_ and tell her to read from it.

Drake knelt behind him and started unbolting his exo-suit. Kruger wondered if he should break out the emergency supply of _dop._ He hated sleeping with the _boets._ Between Crowe's gas and Drake's snoring it was a wonder he got any rest at all. "I'll take first watch. Drakey, go get that case we picked up in Anchorage."

The gunner did as he was told. Maybe tonight wouldn't be too bad. If the boss got sufficiently _gesuip_, all he would do would be to pass out, snore, and be in his usual foul temper the next day, and that was no problem because Kruger _enjoyed_ being pissed off.

"Crowe, what the fok is that!?" Kruger gazed in disgust at the sweat shirt the pilot had pulled on over his camos. It was bright blue and patterned with a huge yellow cartoon bird.

"My cousin gave it to me for Christmas, boss."

"Yer cousin should be strung up by 'is _kloots."_

"It's an 'er. And she's only six."

"Never too young to learn not to wear_ kak_ like that" Kruger, as always, managed to have the last word.

Crowe shook his head. The devil had better look out. If Kruger ever died, he wouldn't be in Hell two minutes before he'd be bitching about what was wrong with the place and the people running it.

Drake entered the tent carrying the case of emergency beer and blessing Kruger's foresight. It wasn't Castle, but it was a decent American brand. He pulled three cans out and tossed two to Kruger and Crowe. They cracked them open at once and got down to the serious business of settling in for the night.


	2. Guy Talk

_**A/N: This chapter references Invisible Ranger's wonderful story "A Long Way From Paradise". I love ya**_**, **_**boet! Keep writing!**_

**Guy Talk…**

"I'm tellin' you _boet_, Miss February! Good hips, _lekker anties…"_

"Looks just like Rina!" Crowe punched Drake in the arm and they both chortled.

"They don't _move_, though" Kruger said. "That was one thing about the old days—they moved_. _None of this point-straight-ahead-and-look-up _kak."_

"Rina's move."

"Just wait until she hits 40, _boet_. Then she's gonna start bugging you to have it done. _"Oh look! They're droopy! They're gonna be down around my knees if you don't do something! Can I have 3000 credits?"_

"You don't feel like payin' you can always give 'er to me" Crowe added with a mammoth belch.

"Give you my _groot vet piel!"_ Drake retorted. "Besides, she still hasn't forgiven you for that business with 'er mum!"

The pilot smiled dreamily. "Yeah, it's been a while since I seen Viv. Need to drop in next time I'm home."

"Jesus, Crowe!"

"Ah come on, boss! She's a lovely lady."

"Lovely lady with three fokkin teeth in 'er 'ead."

"Not always a disadvantage, boss! And you should talk! Just how old is Mrs. _Leer-Kont_ now?"

"Dunno. She'll only admit to being 95."

"Poor boss. He works hard for the money, eh?"

"Works 'is arse off." Drake and Crowe collapsed laughing as Kruger gave them the finger. Drake was relieved to see him getting more jovial and relaxed the more beer he consumed. It wouldn't impair his fighting ability; the boss had hollow legs. _And_ he'd probably go right to sleep once his watch was over. It wasn't likely that anything was going to happen tonight. Delacourt's _teef_-girlfriend just wanted to flex her political muscle and show the few pitiful constituents in her territory that she was fighting the good fight against boatloads of "Commies" supposedly floating over the Bering Strait in canoes.

Kruger stretched out with his arms behind his head as the _boets _continued to rib each other. All things considered, it wasn't a bad way to pass the evening, even if the temperature outside was rapidly dropping below zero. The case was still half-full. _Nunavut. Isn't that the name for one part of this fokkin place? Good name. Next time Delacourt tries to send me here, I'm not having nunavut!_

"What you got there, _boet?"_ Crowe's slurred voice broke into his thoughts.

"Nothin'. Just a text." Drake tapped at his wrist comm.

"From Rina?"

Drake shook his head. "From the _Nagmerrie._"

"How's she doin'?" Crowe asked. Kruger feigned indifference and chugged his beer.

"Not too happy. They want 'er to come out this year."

"They want her to start eating _poes?"_

Drake reached over and gave the pilot a kick. _"Idoot._ No. It's so she can get married. You know, they throw a bunch of parties, invite a bunch of _ryks_ over so the girls can meet the boys…that kind of thing."

"Sounds boring as fok" Kruger wiped his mouth with the back of his arm. "Pass me another can, Drakey."

The gunner obliged. "Prob'ly is. She hates it. They're making her wear this stupid dress. Look." He held up his wrist and Crowe spluttered, dribbling beer down his chin. There was Lorelei Delacourt in a frothy pink gown with her arms out as two seamstresses took her measurements. She was smiling, if you could call a rictus-like baring of teeth a smile.

Kruger snorted. "_Ag,_ look at that! It looks like someone puked Pepto all over 'er."

"Reckon it's 'er auntie's idea?"

"_Ne,_ Delacourt may be a _kont_, but she always looks hot."

"Speaking of anties" Kruger grabbed Drake's wrist and peered at the picture. "I wonder what's holding it up? She's built like a matchstick."

"Maybe she's had it done" Crowe cupped his hands in front of his chest.

"Don't think so" Kruger turned Drake's wrist this way and that. "Probably just gave her a couple of cutlets, or built the top up. Shame." He grunted and let go. Drake rubbed the afflicted limb and took uneasy notice of the gleam of interest in the boss' eyes. Drake was never one to interfere with anyone's private life, but Lorelei and he had been friends since they day they'd met and the _last_ thing she needed was to have Kruger after her. Quickly, he changed the subject. "So what exactly are we supposed to be looking for tonight, boss?

"Weapons caravans and any intel we can get on Nanuk."

"Out here in plain sight?"

Kruger shrugged. "Never underestimate the power of _poes._ Nothing's gonna happen. This is just Delacourt showing off."

"She's getting' married awful young, ain't she?" Crowe returned the conversation to exactly where it didn't need to be.

"So what? They marry at thirteen back home, some of 'em."

"Yeah, but most of them have babies on the way. I thought rich girls could prevent_ kak_ like that."

"That's not what it's for" Drake shook his head. "They meet at sixteen after a computer matches them by age, background, and how much money they have. Then they have to sign some kind of contract saying they'll marry in five years. Then they spend five years getting to know each other and marry at twenty-one."

"That's the stupidest thing I ever heard."

Drake didn't argue; he thought it was pretty stupid himself. There was some more desultory chatter before Crowe began to snore and pretty soon Drake followed him.


End file.
